


Unfinished business

by Nival_Vixen



Series: Agent Lahey and Agent Hale [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Agent Derek Hale, Agent Isaac Lahey, Alternate Universe, Based on a Tumblr Post, Complete, Criminal Masterminds, Criminal Scott, Criminal Stiles Stilinski, FBI, FBI Agent Derek, FBI Agent Isaac, Flirting, M/M, Mild Kink, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:45:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1253365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/pseuds/Nival_Vixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this Tumblr <a href="http://nivalvixen.tumblr.com/post/78175402662/livingwithlycanthropy-hoechlinth">post</a></p><p>The FBI has sent Agents Lahey and Hale to investigate a pair of grifters who are supposedly operating out of a high school in California. Apparently the fact that Isaac’s a newbie and Derek has impulse control issues means that they get saddled with all of the lame cases. What could possibly be that interesting about a pair of teenage miscreants?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished business

"Hale, Taley. Got a couple of grifters running out of a high school in California. Congrats, you've got the case. Try to wrap it up without setting anyone on fire this time, Hale," their boss added, dropping the file on Isaac's desk and leaving without waiting for a response.

 

"He's never going to get my name right, is he?" Isaac muttered, glancing over to his stoic partner.

 

Derek just shrugged in response and picked up the file, flicking through it quickly. He didn't care what he was called so long as they didn't have to sit at their desks all day.

 

"Come on, I'm driving," Derek said, grabbing his leather jacket on the way out.

 

Isaac scrambled up from his desk and hurried after him, wondering just how much Derek would hate him if he asked what the hell a grifter even was.

 

...

 

"They're con-men, Isaac. I know you're a rookie, but seriously, look at a dictionary now and then... So far as we know, these two have been scamming people for less than six months, yet they've still managed to rack up more than two hundred thousand dollars. That means they know what they're doing," Derek said, barely glancing up from the file. "The guys back at the department's already worked out who's doing it, we just need to get them to confess, tell us where the money's gone, and then haul them off to jail."

 

Isaac's embarrassed blush faded by the time their chips and burger came, and the smell of actual decent food made him glad that Derek had opted to drive rather than catching a plane to... _shit, where were they going_? he thought, looking at the file. _Right, Beacon Hills. So, obviously, they were being sent to the only part of California with no beach. Their boss must really hate them_.

 

He glanced up at his partner through a mouthful of burger and dipping his chips in sauce, wondering why so many people refused to work with him. Isaac knew all of the rumours, especially about setting that one guy on fire, but so far Derek hadn't been too bad to work with. At least, he hadn't put him through any bizarre initiation ritual like some of the others he'd been recruited with had been (though there was that one time he threatened to rip out his throat with his teeth when Isaac's mouth and brain just weren't cooperating, but he hardly thought it as an initiation rite). For the most part, Derek had just ignored him, really, and Isaac still didn't know if he was glad or annoyed about that.

 

"You're doing it again," Derek muttered, eyes flicking up to glare at him.

 

"What?" Isaac asked through his mouthful, hurrying to chew his food again.

 

"You're staring again," he pointed out. "You'll get the file in a minute, stop fretting," Derek muttered, turning his attention back to the last few pages of the file.

 

Isaac just nodded. He was so definitely _not_ going to mention what he'd actually been thinking about. He kind of liked his throat where it was.

 

...

 

Finding a hotel was easy, finding the school was even easier, but apparently, interrupting a room full of seniors doing their finals was not going to be easy in the slightest. The exam would finish in two hours' time, and they were given a room to wait in. It was basically a fishbowl with flimsy curtains, and the few staff members in the school office kept glancing over to them and whispering to each other curiously.

 

Ten minutes later, Derek had had enough of the stares and whispers, muttered something about a vending machine, and left Isaac without waiting for a reply. Isaac took the time to read over the file, then re-read it, surreptitiously looking a word or two up on his phone in case Derek came back and caught him. And then, since Derek was obviously taking a long time to find the vending machine, Isaac read the file for a third time. Stilinski was the Sheriff's son, which is probably why Derek hadn't alerted the local authorities that they were there yet, and McCall was the son of a nurse.

 

Derek finally returned almost an hour and a half later, wearing a different shirt under his leather jacket. Isaac was going to say something, but decided not to. Derek must've seen his expression because he raised an eyebrow at him.

 

"I couldn't stand sitting around here, so I went for a run. I made sure I'd come back in time to interrogate the kids, don't worry."

 

Isaac just nodded, quickly looking away. He kind of wanted to laugh at the idea of Derek calling them kids; Isaac was only two years older than these supposed 'kids', while Derek - the old man himself - was eight years. Wasn't like he was a grandfather or something.

 

"They've finished the exam; you can talk to them now," a woman said, popping her head in the room after a brief knock.

 

Isaac hurried to thank her, grabbing the file and following her out. Derek straightened his jacket and pulled his partner back.

 

"Calm down, Lahey. You can't go in there acting all eager like a damn puppy. Try to act as if you know what you're doing, all right?"

 

"Oh. Right. Uh... How do I do that?"

 

Derek sighed and stepped back, glancing over to the woman still walking to the classroom, unaware that she's lost her followers. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pair of tinted sunglasses.

 

"Just wear these and try not to talk too much, okay?"

 

Isaac slipped the sunglasses on, nodded his thanks ('cause he's pretty sure talking right now would be a bad thing), and they continue through the hallway to where the woman's waiting to take them inside. He tried not to smile too broadly as they're shown into the classroom, he remembered clearly just how nervous he was taking his final exams (it was nothing compared to the nerves he had working his first job with Derek; he'd thrown up and had to change his shoes), but a ghost of a smile appeared anyway. He'd be lying if he said he missed exams, but paperwork is something else all together.

 

"All right, class. These men are from the FBI and would like to talk to you. Please pay attention to them."

 

"We've got lacrosse practice to get to, Miss," one boy said, blonde and kind of smug though Isaac probably shouldn't judge people at first glance like that.

 

Derek snorted softly in a mix of disbelief and amusement at the word 'lacrosse', but if Isaac hadn't standing beside him, he probably wouldn't have noticed. Everyone else seemed to have their attention on the blonde boy anyway.

 

"I'm sure lacrosse practice can be postponed for a short time," she replied, but flicked her eyes over to the two FBI agents, almost as if she agreed with the blonde kid.

 

"We'll try not to take up too much time," Isaac said with a quick smile.

 

Derek tensed slightly, as if he wanted to berate Isaac for talking, but just gave a curt nod instead. The woman seemed satisfied and left a moment later.

 

"We're here to see Mr. Stilinski and Mr. McCall," Isaac said.

 

Everyone immediately turned back to look at the two boys, Stiles' eyes wide, and Scott staring at them with his mouth hanging open slightly. Isaac tried to stop his smile, even as Derek barked at everyone else to leave and do it _quickly_. A couple of people at the back are slow in packing their things, but the front half of the class are out of there like a shot, blonde lacrosse kid included.

 

Derek took the file that Isaac had set down on the desk and glanced at it, as if he's not sure they've got the right kids. Isaac tried not to let his eagerness show too much, and with a half-smile, took off the sunglasses to look at the two boys.

 

"My name's Agent Lahey, and this is my partner, Agent Hale."

 

Derek looked up from the file with the tiniest smile on his face, because he's thought they'd be looking for some sort of grifter masterminds (never mind the high school setting), but these two look nothing like con-men. Hell, they don't even look like _men_ yet.

 

"Hi. Who wants to go first?" Derek asked.

 

Scott and Stiles don't even look at each other, both raising their hands to point at the other wordlessly.

 

The last dawdling student finally leaves, and Derek and Isaac look at each other, Derek frowning and probably trying to communicate without words. Which would be fine if Isaac was a mind reader, but unfortunately, he's not. (And if he was, he'd be trying to find out what the hot one was thinking about him, not wasting time trying to do his job, dammit.)

 

"Uh, hey. If it's at all possible, can you lead us out of here in handcuffs?" the one with the buzzcut asked, interrupting their silent and confused communication.

 

Derek immediately turned to glare at him. "What?"

 

"Y'know, us in handcuffs, being taken away by two ho... uh, two FBI agents, that kind of thing? I would've asked my dad to do it years ago, but everyone knows I'm his kid, so it doesn't lend the same allure as this."

 

" _Allure?_ You think this is cool?" Derek asked incredulously.

 

"No, I think your jacket's cool. This, this is fucking _awesome_ ," Stiles said, his body and hands both acting as an emphasis to his words.

 

"Do you even have any idea why we're here?" Isaac asked curiously, looking between them.

 

Scott immediately shook his head, looking a little like a deer caught in headlights. "Not a clue. Unless you really like lacrosse, nothing ever happens in Beacon Hills," he said, shrugging now.

 

Isaac glanced over at Derek, surprised to see him having some kind of staring stand-off with Stiles, his jaw and fists clenched tightly. Stilinski, on the other hand, was just kind of staring back at him curiously.

 

"I'll deal with McCall if you want Stilinski?" Isaac offered quietly, which was completely against protocol, but he didn't think Derek would mind about bending the rules.

 

Derek grinned toothily and nodded; Isaac almost regretted his words, but hey, he got to talk to the hot one a little more.

 

"Get up, Stilinski, you're coming with me," Derek growled, stepping forward.

 

"Is that a promise? 'Cause, I gotta say, I don't mind at all," Stiles said, giving Derek a very obvious once over.

 

"Jesus, Stiles, shut up," Scott whispered at him.

 

"Why? He's hot," Stiles replied, grinning at his best friend.

 

"He could throw you in jail or something," Scott mumbled.

 

"Eh, I'd be in handcuffs. Huh, I think I've got a kink for handcuffs. All these years hitting it off and it's like I don't even know myself anymore... Oh, don't look so depressed, Scott. Even if Agent Scary-Sexy did throw me in jail, it wouldn't be for long. I'd call my dad, and besides, I'm still a minor. Only for two more weeks," Stiles added a little louder, looking over to where Derek was getting extremely impatient.

 

"Hurry up, Stilinski," Derek growled, tempted to drag him out of the room by his shirt.

 

"Hey, call me Stiles. If this connection between us is going to go anywhere, you should call me by my name."

 

Derek's jaw clenched even tighter, and Isaac wondered if his dentist was just laughing in a pile of money somewhere.

 

"Wait, Stiles Stilinski?" Isaac asked, remembering his name from the file.

 

"It's what I like to be called," Stiles replied with a shrug, slinging his bag on his shoulder. "All right, Agent Hale, I'm ready for you now. Please, be gentle," he added with wide eyes, licking his lips briefly.

 

Derek put his hand on Stiles' shoulder, his nails digging through his thin layers of shirts tightly as he led him out of the classroom. When the door closed behind them, Isaac turned back to Scott and smiled at him.

 

"So, let's get started, shall we, Mr. McCall?"

 

"Scott. Mr. McCall just sounds weird," Scott said with a frown.

 

Scott looked a little relieved that he wasn't going to tear into him like Derek probably would his friend, and Isaac grinned broadly as he sat on the chair facing him.

 

"All right then, Scott... Have you ever heard of the term grifter?"

 

...

 

"Grifter, or drifter? 'Cause I've seen Pacific Rim, and honestly, if anyone ever made giant robots designed to fight giant monster, I would so _totally_ be there. Hey, we could be drift compatible," Stiles said, raising his eyebrows with a grin.

 

Derek didn't reply and just raised one eyebrow slowly.

 

"Oh, all right. Not a movie fan, then? Yeah, you're probably more of a book guy... So, uh, no, I haven't heard of the term grifter. What's it mean?"

 

"It means you're a con-artist; that you've been scamming hundreds of dollars out of innocent people every week for the last five months until you end up with a grand total of two hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars, and sixty-eight cents."

 

"That's a very specific definition," Stiles said, his eyes even wider than before.

 

"Specific, but true," Derek sneered.

 

"In regards to? You or me? If you had that kind of money, I really think you could buy a better pair of shoes. I mean, they look good on you an all, but seriously, they're nowhere near new. You've probably paid more to get them resoled than their original cost, right?" Stiles asked, looking down at Derek's feet.

 

Derek looked down at his boots with a frown. They had been his father's, actually, and once he'd been old enough to fit in them, it seemed like he'd never taken them off again. _Stiles was fucking perceptive for a kid_.

 

"Uh, okay. Sorry, not used to randomly hitting nerves over shoes. So, now I know what a grifter is, and I've still got no idea how that relates to me," Stiles said, surprising Derek by returning to his original questioning. "And honestly, if I had that kind of money available, do you seriously think I'd be wearing plaid shirts? Well, actually, these shirts are really comfortable. But still, I would be dressed so damn dapper, even you'd want to fuck me," he added, smirking a bit as he looked Derek over again.

 

Derek didn't actually know what the hell to say to that, and since his usual glare-them-down technique didn't seem to elicit a response from Stiles, he was kind of at a loss. So, taking a break from his usual technique, he sat down across from Stiles, resisting the urge to beat the answer out of his smug and suggestive mouth.

 

"Why don't you tell me who you think suddenly has that kind of money around here, then?"

 

Okay, fine. This wasn't just taking a break from his technique, this was going against all FBI protocol, completely and utterly. If his boss ever found out, he'd probably kill him. And then piss on his grave just for everything else Derek had ever put him through.

 

Stiles blinked in surprise, sitting back on his chair a bit straighter. "What? You mean it?"

 

"You're perceptive, and you know the people around here better than I do; who do you think has that kind of money?"

 

"Jackson, but that's because his parents are rich. I mean, you saw the Porsche out front? That was a present for making Captain of the lacrosse team. I mean, that's not even a real achievement or something... But there's no one else in town with that kind of money. At least, none that they're advertising," Stiles said, shrugging.

 

"And you definitely don't have it, right? Because of your clothes," Derek confirmed with a nod. "It wouldn't be going to a medical facility in Switzerland where Claudia Stilinski is currently residing?"

 

The colour in Stiles' face drained away completely, and he looked like he was either going to throw up or faint. Derek shifted back slightly, a feeling of guilt twisting in his stomach that he put down to a bad burger.

 

"My mother has been in that facility since I was eight years old, Agent Hale," Stiles replied quietly.

 

"Yes, and your father wasn't been able to make payments on her treatment for two months, but then they started up again. Why do you think that is?"

 

"I started buying my own food and Adderall so my dad could keep paying to keep my mum alive, okay? That a good enough reason for you?" Stiles asked, his eyes flashing with anger as he stood up. "I think we've talked long enough now, Agent Hale. I haven't done anything wrong, and I'm within my rights to leave," he added, picking up his bag and walking out.

 

Derek hadn't finished his interrogation, but couldn't bring himself to call for Stiles to stop. He waited until he could no longer hear Stiles walking through the empty school halls before he went to find Isaac.

 

...

 

"Do you think they did it, Derek?" Isaac asked later that night, after reiterating what Scott had told him (basically: _nothing_. He knew nothing, suspected nothing, and could tell him absolutely nothing).

 

Derek sighed, rubbing the stubble on his face briefly. "I don't know. I don't think they're smart enough to pull off something like this," _despite how perceptive Stiles had been_ , he added silently, "but I've got a gut feeling that they're involved in it in some way or another."

 

Isaac nodded reluctantly. Scott had tried to pull off the 'I know nothing' card for a little too long for it to be believable, no matter how much Isaac wanted it to be otherwise. _Fuck_.

 

"I'll see what we can do about tapping their phones in the morning," Derek muttered, grabbing his bag and heading into the bathroom for a shower and shave.

 

Isaac flopped back on one of the hotels single beds, undoing his tie with a sharp tug, and wishing that the first hot guy that actually paid attention to him had been anyone but a suspect in a grifter case.

 

...

 

Stiles answered his phone blearily, glancing at the clock. "It's two in the fucking morning, Scott, you had better be dead or dying."

 

"How could I call you if I was dead?" Scott asked, frowning.

 

"Beyond the grave or whatever. Why the hell are you calling me at this time, Scott? Did you and Allison get into a fight?"

 

"What? No, we're fine. It's just... They _know_ , Stiles. Isaac started asking all of these questions about your mum, and I panicked and said I didn't know anything to _everything_ he asked. I'm such an idiot, and now they know, don't they?"

 

"Who's Isaac?"

 

"Uh, Agent Lahey."

 

"You got to first name basis with yours? Aw, cute."

 

He could practically _hear_ Scott blushing on the other end of the line.

 

"Shut up, Stiles. I fucked up, didn't I?"

 

"Not at all, it's still going according to plan. Maybe next time, listen to the questions and answer the non-incriminating ones if you actually do know the answer," Stiles suggested with a grin.

 

"There's going to be a next time?"

 

"Sounding a little hopeful there, Scott. Looking forward to seeing _Isaac_ again, are you?" he teased, hoping to calm his best friend down again.

 

"Oh, like you're any better with Agent Hale," Scott muttered, hanging up.

 

Stiles chuckled and put his phone back on his nightstand, falling back to his dream about a man in a leather jacket and old boots.

 

...

 

"Agent Hale, Agent Lahey. Are you here to interrogate me again, or you just wanted to drop by?" Stiles asked, grinning at them as he leaned against his front door.

 

"We're here to see your father," Isaac replied when Derek didn't seem inclined to answer. "We were told he left the station almost thirty minutes ago."

 

Stiles' grin fell and he glanced at his watch, then to the road behind them. "It only takes twenty to get here. Oh, I know where he's gone," he muttered under his breath, leaving abruptly.

 

"Uh, do we follow him?" Isaac asked Derek in confusion.

 

Derek didn't have a chance to reply because Stiles returned, shoving his wallet in his pocket and closing the door with more force than necessary. He completely ignored the two agents, pushing past them to get to his Jeep.

 

"Yeah, we follow him," Derek muttered, hurrying back to the black rental sitting on the side of the road, Isaac almost running to catch up.

 

Stiles continued his muttering all the way to the restaurant. _Obviously, his dad thought he wouldn't find out, but he found out all right_. It was odd being purposely followed by the FBI, but Stiles couldn't bring himself to really care, even as he pulled into the parking lot and ran into the building closely flanked by the two agents.

 

"Dad! Put that curly fry down right now!" Stiles said, stalking over to him and taking the fork away from him. "How many have you eaten?"

 

John sighed heavily, looking down at his burger and curly fries with the sad knowledge that they would now go to waste. "That was going to be my second fry, Stiles. I asked for half the fry serving, and look, I even made sure they put extra salad stuff in my burger," he said, picking up the bun to show him the lettuce and tomatoes beneath it.

 

"It doesn't count if it's slathered in grease, and you know it."

 

"Who're the suits?" he asked, seeing the two men standing behind Stiles, the younger one looking agape and the older looking just confused. "Well, suit and a half," he amended, realising that the older one was wearing a leather jacket.

 

"FBI, dad. They wanted to talk to you about me being a suspect in a grifter case," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

 

"You? A grifter? Son, you might sound like you know what you're talking about, but most of the time, you couldn't sell a lifejacket to a drowning man," John said with a chuckle.

 

"Thanks, dad. Come on, you can talk to them at home where I'll make you something _healthy_ for dinner," Stiles added, tugging his father out of the booth and guiding him out of the restaurant.

 

"One day, I'm going to lock you up in jail just so I can eat a burger and fries," he muttered, but couldn't help grinning.

 

"Please, I know everyone's deepest and darkest secrets. I know exactly who to bribe to get out of jail," Stiles said, rolling his eyes at his father.

 

John just laughed and got into his patrol car, waving for the FBI agents to follow him home. Stiles waited for a good five minutes to make sure his father didn't come back to attempt the drive-through before heading after them.

 

...

 

"Wait, you're being serious? You honestly think **_my son_** has something to do with this?" John asked in disbelief, sinking to his seat.

 

Isaac had the decency to look a little apologetic as he nodded. Derek tried not to look at the baby photos lined on the wall and nodded as well.

 

"Why? _How?_ I mean, I know he's smart, but he's not exactly focused, and he can't even pass Home Ec," John said, trailing off to a mutter, going on about something to do with the history of male circumcision.

 

Derek had no idea if he even wanted to know what the hell **that** was all about. The front door opened and they all looked over to see Stiles walk inside.

 

"Have you finished trying to convince my father that I'm a criminal, or do you need me to go around the block one more time?" Stiles asked sarcastically, indicating to his Jeep over his shoulder.

 

"Stiles."

 

"Dad," he replied mockingly. "Come on, dad, you know me. I don't think about things unless it's to do with you, Scott, lacrosse, food, sex, or however reluctantly, school," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. "Although not in that particular order," he added, smirking over at Derek. Then his gaze softened and he looked back to his father. "Do you honestly think I could really do something like this? I would've fixed the Jeep weeks ago; remember when I broke down and had to ride home on Scott's handlebars?"

 

John sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I remember. You both got sick from being out in the rain all afternoon."

 

"Exactly."

 

There was something just a little too smug about Stiles' grin and Derek gritted his teeth, pushing past the younger man to get out of the house before he did something stupid like shove him up against a wall and demand that he tell the truth. Isaac hurried to thank Sheriff Stilinski, nodded to Stiles, and followed Derek before he was left stranded. Derek barely waited for Isaac to get in the car before driving off, Isaac quickly pulling his belt on in case they got arrested by the Sheriff in a weird twist of fate.

 

"You put a tap on their phone?" Derek asked, glancing to him.

 

Isaac nodded, his cheeks red; it always made him feel bad doing something like that. "You got Stiles' phone?"

 

Derek just smirked and held the cellular device up before throwing it to Isaac. "Turn it off so it can't be tracked. I don't know how to work that thing."

 

Isaac just nodded, not daring to mention Derek's old Nokia phone that didn't even have a camera.

 

...

 

That night, four calls were made from the Stilinski residence: the first was to the local pizza place asking in a quiet and desperate voice to deliver to the back of the house; the second was to the local pizza place telling them to cancel that order and they should know better by now; the third call was to Scott to ask if he had seen Stiles' phone; the fourth, placed late at night and long after Derek had sent Isaac to bed, was to a boy named Danny about a meeting in the jungle.

 

Derek thought he heard Stiles incorrectly, frowning as he pressed his headphones to his ears tighter to listen to more of the phone call.

 

"Come on, Danny, I heard Ethan will be there," Stiles added.

 

"That's got nothing to do with this," Danny replied hotly. "It's wrong, and I don't want any more to do with it. Jackson's my best friend."

 

"Jackson's an asshole, and he treats you like less than that, Danny. Tomorrow night will be the last time, I promise," Stiles said.

 

There was a long pause and eventually Danny sighed. "Fine, I'll be at the jungle at 8pm. Meet me there and don't be late."

 

"Me, late? Never!"

 

"Not funny, Stiles," Danny muttered, hanging up on him.

 

When Isaac woke up to take over his shift, Derek told him what had transpired. He went to bed with a broad grin, sure that they'd catch them in the act, and this would finally be over. When this was over, Derek was certain that he would be able to stop thinking about a particular guy with a buzzcut and long fingers and a mouth that was made for sin.

 

...

 

The Jungle was a bar, and neither the bouncer nor the people waiting in the line were impressed with their FBI badges, but both Derek and Isaac were still allowed inside without too much fuss. They set up at opposite sides of the bar to keep an eye out for Stiles and Danny. (Isaac had had the good sense to buy a copy of the Beacon Hills High yearbook so they actually had a face to match the name.)

 

It was still early by normal clubbing standards, but this place was packed. People were walking in covered in paint, the black lights turning on as 8pm ticked over and making all of them glow. Derek stilled on seeing Stiles walk in casually, and without the glow-in-the-dark paint that so many others were covered in.

 

"Danny's just walked in through the back entrance of the club," Isaac informed him.

 

"Stiles walked in through the front. They're going to do a meet on the dance floor," Derek realised.

 

It was the perfect cover, with that many writhing bodies and the lights making it difficult for someone to even see their partner. _Fuck_.

 

"I can't get there in time, Derek. You're closer," Isaac informed him, even though Derek already knew that and had already started towards the mass of bodies.

 

"Head around to the front of the club, make sure neither of them go back out that way when I intercept them," he replied, breathing in deeply and smelling sweat, laughter, and sex in the air before he stepped into the writhing sea.

 

It didn't take long for him to get to Stiles, and there was a smug look on his face like he had planned this to happen. Derek grabbed Stiles' arm, trying to demand answers uselessly over the noise of the music. Stiles stepped in closer to Derek until they were pressed together, and Derek swallowed hard, his voice dying in his throat. Stiles wound his arms around Derek's body, his hips rolling up against his, and _dear fucking god if that didn't make him half-hard in his jeans_.

 

Which was **not** a good response to have to a suspect, much less a minor. Derek must have said the last part out loud, and Stiles had to be closer than he realised because then his mouth was at Derek's ear.

 

"Only for one more week, Agent Hale," Stiles said, his breath hot against his skin, and his lips moving to his neck, sucking sloppily and then biting, and just generally making Derek feel as though there was some sort of direct line from his neck to his cock.

 

 _Fuck, he was so going to hell for this_.

 

Derek actually whimpered when Stiles pulled away, and thanked small mercies for the music masking any other pathetic noises he might have made. Stiles just smirked at him and held up both of their phones before turning and moving off the dance floor as easily as a stroll through the park. Derek had more trouble than that, his mind still focused on the wet spot on his neck, the teeth marks that were sure to bruise, the way Stiles had felt with his lithe body pressed up against him, and damn him for leaving him half-hard and no way to deal with it. He stumbled through the sea of bodies, his arms and legs getting in the way of seemingly _everyone_ in the whole damn club, and by the time he was out of it all, Isaac was meeting him at the edge of the dance floor holding his phone.

 

"Sorry, Derek. He threw this at me and I thought catching it was more important than catching him tonight; we know where he lives, after all. Did you see Danny out there too?" Isaac asked, glancing over his shoulder, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge the wet hickey Derek now sported.

 

"No. We were set up from the start," he replied with a growl of frustration. His phone let out a cheery chirping sound, and Derek grabbed his phone from Isaac quickly.

 

 _Seriously, Agent Hale? Update your phone, it's embarrassing to be texting you when I know you have a phone that's probably older than my Jeep_.

 

Derek scowled at the small green screen and left the club, Isaac hurrying after him.

 

"Next time, catch _him_ , not my phone, got it?"

 

Isaac wasn't sure there would be a next time, not unless Stiles wanted there to be, but he nodded resolutely anyway.

 

...

 

Monday came and went with interrogations of the senior students. Since they couldn't seem to catch Stiles and Scott out, they would have to see if their classmates knew anything to implicate them. They'd kept Danny in the room for a good half hour, trying to break him, but he just told them that Stiles sometimes liked to get into the bar, and while he was underage he never actually drank anything.

 

Derek's hickey had almost faded, and his jacket collar had stayed popped during his interrogations of the students in order to try and hide it from them. One red-headed girl had just rolled her eyes at him and offered her makeup compact with a knowing smile.

 

Interrogations and double-checking their stories took three full days, during which Derek's phone would randomly go off with a message from Stiles. The texts that he received were distracting to a fault, yet Derek couldn't stop himself from looking at the phone each time.

 

_Have you updated your phone yet, Agent Hale? Do you think rabbits are sex addicts?_

_Am I still a suspect in this grifter case? I could help you solve it, you know, Agent Hale._

_I've been thinking about that night in the club, have you, Agent Hale?_

_I'll bet you have, your hand wrapped around your cock as you remember how it felt to have my mouth on you, thinking about where else you'd like my mouth to be, haven't you, Agent Hale?_

_Seriously, Agent Hale, update your phone. It's no fun to sext you when you can't even receive the pictures I want to send to you_.

 

The last message had seriously tempted him to go buy a new phone. He had barely hung on to his resolve to not reply to Stiles' texts too.

 

Their interrogations ended where they originally started: with Scott and Stiles. This time, Isaac questioned Stiles and he had the displeasure of questioning Scott who, just as he had last time, knew nothing at all whatsoever.

 

"I just don't get why Stiles likes you so much. You're all hard and _mean_ ," Scott muttered, glancing up at him from under his long fringe.

 

Derek just raised an eyebrow and waited for Scott to answer his actual question.

 

"You've really got that eyebrow thing down packed, don't you? Someone could probably have an entire conversation with just your 'brows," Scott said, chuckling.

 

Derek raised the other eyebrow and wondered if Scott was on drugs. Then his phone chirped at him, and he saw it was Stiles.

 

 _If you're done interrogating Scott, can you come relieve Isaac now? I think I broke him_.

 

He pushed, shoved, and almost dragged Scott out of the room to where Isaac and Stiles were, only to find Isaac staring at Stiles like he'd just told him Santa wasn't real.

 

"What did you do?" Derek demanded, glaring at Stiles as he crossed the few metres to check on Isaac.

 

"Just told him the truth," Stiles replied with a shrug.

 

"About what?" he snarled, tapping Isaac's face lightly to try and snap him out of it.

 

"About what I plan on doing to you I'm finally of age. It's tomorrow, you know."

 

"What?" Derek asked, and he wasn't even sure which part he was asking about.

 

"My birthday. I'll finally be eighteen and, more importantly, I'll be _legal_. You'll come to my birthday party, won't you, Agent Hale?" Stiles asked, looking up at him with wide eyes, and licking his lips.

 

Derek found himself nodding, unable to look away from those sinful lips. He turned back to Isaac, only to see that he was no longer there.

 

"Scott took him to the bathroom to get cleaned up; he'll be all right, Agent Hale," Stiles promised, grinning at him.

 

"Tell me something, Stiles. I've seen your academic files, and I know just how smart you really are. So why are you scamming these people out of their money? You could be doing so much more with your life, with your brain," Derek said, looking at him sitting on the desk like he didn't have a care in the world.

 

Stiles stopped swinging his legs briefly and looked at Derek, no hint of laughter, sarcasm, or even mocking in his expression. Instead, he seemed curious and pained at the same time.

 

"You really want to know, Agent Hale?" Stiles asked softly, and he immediately nodded in response. "I do the things I do because I **can** do them, which is more than can be said for some. You might want to check on Isaac. I'm pretty sure those muscle relaxants Scott took have some weird side effects."

 

 _Well, that explained his weird behaviour_ , Derek thought even as he rushed out to find where Scott and Isaac had gone.

 

He found them in the bathroom, Scott pressing Isaac up against the sink as he kissed him eagerly, tongues lapping at one another as Scott tugged on Isaac's perfectly sculpted hair. Derek stepped back and closed the door quietly. _They were both so screwed_.

 

...

 

" _Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Stiles, happy birthday to you!_ "

 

The party wasn't much of a party with less than ten people in attendance, including the birthday boy, but Stiles seemed happy enough. Scott and Isaac kept making faces at each other over Stiles' head, Stiles' father and Scott's mother weren't as subtle as they thought they were, and Derek wished he'd never agreed to come here.

 

Stiles blew out the candles, cut his cake, and while they were all busy eating and glancing at each other, he said something about spilling food and Derek needing to change his shirt, before pulling Derek upstairs to his bedroom. Derek doubted that their absence was even noticed by the other four people.

 

The moment Derek was in Stiles' room, he was pushed up against the door and kissed as if their lives depended on it. He struggled to put the cake and plate down, warring with his desire to hold onto Stiles tighter and his desire to push him away. He did neither, Stiles flicking his tongue out to lick Derek's lips, and he opened his mouth with a small noise of want and need. By the time they pulled away a few minutes later, Derek had his eyes closed, Stiles' lips were swollen, and they were both breathing heavily.

 

"If you won't tell me why, then tell me how, Stiles," Derek murmured against his neck.

 

"Is this a one-or-the-other deal? If I tell you why, then you won't ask how, and vice versa?" Stiles asked, licking his swollen lips carefully.

 

"For now."

 

"And anything I say isn't being recorded to use against me? You just want to know?" he asked.

 

"You've seen my phone."

 

"I've also seen how many pockets your jacket has, Agent Hale; you could be hiding anything in those."

 

"Derek."

 

"What?" Stiles asked, frowning.

 

"My name; it's Derek."

 

"All right then, Agent Derek Hale. Empty those pockets."

 

The contents were pitiful, honestly: a receipt from a gas station, his phone, his wallet, an old pencil that's little more than a stub, and a small notepad. Stiles opened the notepad, disappointed to find nothing of interest written in there.

 

"Wow, Agent Derek Hale, you are probably the most boring, uh," he paused for a moment, opening Derek's wallet to read his driver's license and determine his age, "Twenty-six year old in the world. I mean, you don't even have a condom in your pocket."

 

Derek smirked at that, stepped forward and took his wallet from Stiles. He opened the coin compartment and pulled out a condom. "You were saying?"

 

"Hmm. That's new, right? Or at least, made in the last three months new? It hasn't been sitting in there since you got your phone, has it?"

 

He just rolled his eyes at Stiles. "So are you going to tell me or not?"

 

"You know about my mother's condition, obviously?"

 

Derek nodded. "Some kind of dementia, right?"

 

"Frontotemporal dementia; it shrinks the brain, causes hallucinations and forgetfulness, until it kills you. I found out that I have it, just like my mother does."

 

Derek had no idea what to say to that, he doesn't know how to respond to the sucker-punched feeling in his stomach, or the way he feels as though the world is spinning and tilting him off balance. Stiles was still talking, he realised eventually, and looked at him once more.

 

"The clinic that my mum's at, they're expensive. They'll take me, but only with a deposit of fifteen grand. The rest of it is to make sure that dad'll have enough to pay for both me and mum while we're there. They've already told us that mum's in the last stages, and she's dying, but he can't even fly over there to see her and say goodbye. He's spent the last ten years clinging to nothing but the memory of her, because he can't see her," Stiles said, his voice breaking in a choked sound, and Derek desperately wanted to hold him, to reassure him that everything would be all right, but he can't even do that.

 

Stiles pressed another kiss to his lips, but this one's desperate and sad, and will cling to their lips as a haunted memory. Derek returned the kiss and wound his arms around Stiles' waist this time.

 

They pulled away again, and Stiles smiled up at him fondly. "You've been the most fun I've had in six months, Agent Derek Hale. Now, I want you to arrest me."

 

Derek blinked in surprise and shock; that was far from the response he expected, but even before he had to think about it, he already started shaking his head. There was no way in hell he could arrest Stiles.

 

"Arrest me and get me out of here before my dad finds out the truth the hard way. Let him let me and mum go, let him be happy with Melissa, and arrest me. Please, Derek."

 

This time Derek was the one to lean forward and kiss Stiles, and he had a notion of never stopping, or of grabbing his hand and running away, or of them flying off to Switzerland together. Stiles kissed him, his fingers digging into his shoulders, and Derek waited until his arms were lowered before reaching around to hold Stiles hard up against him. The handcuffs spun and locked into place with a sound of finality, and Stiles pulled away with what Derek could only think of as a sigh of relief. Stiles grinned at Derek and stepped back carefully.

 

"These would've been useful at the club, don't you think? Cuffing me somewhere and not letting me go until I'd done all you asked?"

 

"Sure, Stiles," Derek replied huskily, pressing one more kiss to his lips before leading him downstairs.

 

There's shouting and crying from all four of them, even Isaac for god's sakes, all of them telling him he's wrong, that he shouldn't do this, that he doesn't have to do this. Derek ignored them and put Stiles in the car, telling Isaac to meet him back at the hotel since he refused to get in the car. Sheriff Stilinski looked ready to murder Derek just to free his son, but Stiles shook his head at them all, told them it was the truth, and made them promise not to do something stupid.

 

Finally, Derek got into the front seat. He drove to the gas station, filled up the car, and went inside to pay. Derek was nowhere near surprised when he returned to the car only to find the backseat empty, but for a pair of handcuffs, and Stiles gone.

 

...

 

The true surprise came a week later. Derek had stayed back late to finish his report and all of the necessary paperwork to close the grifter case (Scott knew nothing, said nothing, and could provide absolutely no details as to his best friend's whereabouts). Isaac refused to talk to him, and had made plans to return to Beacon Hills that weekend to visit Scott.

 

Derek saw he had an email and decided to check it before he left for his empty apartment. Credit card statement, and despite his usual hatred of them, he opened the file anyway to pass the time. He scrolled through the first pages and stopped with a frown when he saw that he'd apparently made a recent withdrawal. _Uh, okay, he'd made two ... wait, no four, um... eight withdrawals?_ That was so far beyond right that Derek actually scrolled back up to check it was really his account number. Derek had started with a credit card worth ten thousand grand, and somehow, he had ended up with little more than ten dollars to his name.

 

His heart felt as though it had stopped, and Derek opened up the FBI database to search for _Claudia Stilinski_. The record there was much shorter than the one he'd taken up to Beacon Hills. There was no mention of a clinic in Switzerland, and the word 'deceased' was flashing in bright red at the top of the screen. She had actually died ten years ago, with the postmortem records showing severe signs of frontotemporal dementia.

 

"Fuck me," Derek groaned, his head in his hands.

 

Stiles had set everything up from the very beginning. He'd even gone so far as to alter his own mother's records in the FBI database, just so he could steal ten thousand dollars from Derek. And if he had been able to do that, there was no telling where Stiles would stop; in fact, the entire FBI funds were probably being wiped clean right now. Derek was going to be fired for this without a doubt.

 

His phone chirped beside him, and he barely glanced at the screen before opening the message.

 

 _So, that's the_ how _, Agent Derek Hale. Mind you, I don't usually put as much time into a con as I did for yours. I didn't lie though: you really were the most fun I've had in months._

_I don't know about you, but I think we're far from finished, don't you, Agent Derek Hale?_

_I'm glad to see that you've updated your phone_.

 

Derek hurried to grab his jacket as he left, sending a text to Isaac so he could give him a lift to Beacon Hills. He had some unfinished business to attend to.

 

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!


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